


Reality-Stop

by JayTheBird



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 20:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12565696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayTheBird/pseuds/JayTheBird
Summary: He touches. He feels. No, not his. It looks like his. It smells like his. But it doesn't feel like his. Every time he touches something, his bed, his desk, his brother's sword on the wall, he can feel the textures. He can feel the soft sheets, the solid wood and the cold handle. But it isn't real. His minds tells him it isn't real. It's his body playing tricks on him again.He knows better than to believe what his body tells him to believe. He knows better than to depend on his senses. They have been toyed with before. He has been fooled before. He promised himself to never be that gullible ever again.Takes place after 12x02. Sam has had a hard time dealing with what's real and what's not before. This time around though, there is no Lucifer taunting him, or office buildings turning into wearhouses. Just his dead mother and brother acting like everything is fine and dandy. Sam is not going to fall for it again.





	Reality-Stop

He touches. He feels. No, not his. It looks like his. It smells like his. But it doesn't _feel_ like his. Every time he touches something, his bed, his desk, his brother's sword on the wall, he can feel the textures. He can feel the soft sheets, the solid wood and the cold handle. But it isn't _real_. His minds tells him it isn't real. It's his body playing tricks on him again.

He knows better than to believe what his body tells him to believe. He knows better than to depend on his senses. They have been toyed with before. He has been fooled before. He promised himself to never be that gullible ever again.

This time it’s different though. This time it takes so long. It takes so long for the truth to manifest itself around him again. For the pain and the torture to return. He doesn't understand. His resolve is cracking, but up until now he has managed to catch himself before he crumbles.

When his mother and brother are near, he plays along. He loses himself in the beautiful illusions around him, and he is happy. But when he is alone again, in his own room – no, not his room – he reminds himself of reality. The real reality. Not the lies he is living right now and which he would sell his soul for to become real. Just for a little while he wants to truly enjoy what he has here. But he can’t. He wants to hug his mother, drink a beer with his brother, slouch in a chair and relax. But he can’t.

He can't relax. He can’t trust the two illusions who look so much like his brother and his mother. Not when danger lurks around every corner. The danger of the real reality. He won't be caught of guard. He'll remain watchful, ready for whatever his captors will throw at him.

And who knows. Maybe this fake reality will last longer if Sam remains distrustful of it. Maybe his captors will make it last just to see if they can break him, like he did before. Well, he'll give them a run for their money. He has been tortured by the devil himself, what could they do to him? Right?

* * *

 

Something is wrong with Sam. And of course, according to Dean, a billion things are 'wrong' with his younger brother. Crazily tall is one of them, way too smart for his own good too, and sassy as fuck. He likes rabbit food. Ugh.

Those traits, they make Sam weird for sure, but he's been like that all his life. And God knows Dean has tried to turn him around, teach him about real food, about getting girls into his bed, but eventually he accepted this is just the way his brother is. And he loves Sam for it, in all his geeky glory.

But this is different. This isn't like Sam at all. At first, Dean didn't really notice much. His brother seemed to be happy to be back (who wouldn't after days of torture) and he was getting along better with Mary. But more and more often, Dean found his brother wandering around the hallways of the bunker, his fingers sliding along the brick walls. Sometimes he would enter a room to touch things inside.

He caught Sam in _his_ room a couple of times too, touching the weapons on his walls, the pictures inside his desk drawer and the gun underneath his pillow. He called his brother out on it a couple of times, but according to Sam it’s nothing. And at first Dean didn't want to make a big deal out of it either. It isn't like Sam isn't allowed to be in his room. Hell, they've shared a bed until Dean was fourteen years old. The Winchesters don't know privacy, they don't need it. All they need is each other. And Sam definitely needs Dean now.

Their mom hasn’t noticed anything off yet. Dean can't really blame her. She doesn't know Sammy the way he does. Actually, she doesn't know him at all. She doesn't know Dean either. The only person in their life, the only person who _is_ still alive, who might have seen a glimpse of who they really are, is Castiel. The angel has been through most of the crap with them, starting with the appocalypse. Cas has made the same mistakes they did, he has felt their pain. He understands, but he’ll never completely get them. Cas didn’t grow up with them. He can’t read Sam the way Dean does. He doesn’t understand Sam like Dean can.

Dean likes to think he knows all there is to know about Sam, but at the same time he is very aware that there might be things Sam keeps even from him. There have been moments in his life in which he could hardly recognize Sam. But that all started the day Dean came back from the dead and found his brother going rogue on demonblood.They’ve come a long way since then and Dean has to admit he isn't quite the innocent himself.

It's their willingness to forgive one another for anything and everything that keeps them tight, that keeps them fighting for one another. Because without the one, the other is nothing but a normal human male. And if there is one thing certain in this world, it is that neither of the Winchester brothers can ever be considered a _normal, mundane_ human. They have proven themselves over and over again to be more than just that.

But none of that makes them immortal or invulnerable. And Dean knows that all too well. It doesn't really help either that last time he saw Sam staring at things that weren't there, and speaking to people, well one person in particular, who was supposed to be locked in a cage in hell, he had taken Dean's car, pointed a gun at his brother and nearly went insane.

Suddenly, in the corner of his eye, Dean sees Sam passing by. Almost zombie-like, the way-too-tall-to-be-a- _little_ -brother shuffles through the hallway towards the bedrooms, not even noticing Dean watching him from their kitchen.

Alright, this has gone too far. Dean drains the last of his beer, chucks his can into the trashcan and goes after Sam. This is going to end now, prefferbly before any weapons wurm themselves into the picture.

* * *

“What are you doing in here, Sam?”

All of the sudden, fake Dean is there. Normally, he isn't. Normally, Dean would only be in the library or the kitchen or the garage, doing the things real Dean always did. Sam assumed fake Dean slept in his own room, but he would never be there during the day. Never would his brother follow him when he was wandering. Those were his moments. Those were the moments he would tell himself how this was all fake. Those were the moments he would ground himself.

He noticed how he needed those moments more and more often though. He was fading, was starting to believe this whole puppet show. His captors were taking over his mind, they were winning. But he is Sam Fucking Winchester, and he isn't ready to give up yet. But this confuses him. Why is fake Dean here? Why is he making trouble for him? He should know why he is here, he is part of his subconcious after all.

“I'm touching,” he replies, his fingertips still gently running over the bracelets lying on his brother's desk.

“I see that you're..- what the heck Sam, what's going on with you?”

Dean sounds angry. He comes closer, takes a couple of steps until he is right in front of Sam.

“Don't you think I noticed? One moment you're sitting at the table with mom, playing around with your laptop or whatever, next you're walking around our rooms and getting your dirty hands on my stuff for no reason. It’s like you’re high or something.” A gentle hand on his shoulder belies his brother's pissed-off tone.

“Come on Sam, what's happening? Is this about mom? You've been acting off ever since she's moved in. Look, I know it's crazy to have her around after so long, hell, you can't even remember her from when you were a kid...”

He sighs, drags a hand over his face and let's go of Sam's shoulder.

“But don't you think we should give her a chance? Lately, all we've seen is death so lets just... Just… just take the chance to get to know her a little, okay? Just be glad that, besides us, someone else is finally coming back for once.”

Sam understands. He understands what is happening here. These are his captors. They are trying to convince him fake Dean and fake Mom are real. They are trying to get him to trust them. He won't fall for it.

“Leave me alone, Dean.”

“Well, I'd love to, but seeing as you're in my room, I suggest you go to your own if you want to be _alone_.”

Dean, so annoying. Always being so _difficult_. Never just listening to him. Sam used to hate that about Dean. Now he just wants to hug his brother. Because he missed this. He truly misses his brother and all of his annoying traits. But this is fake Dean, so he doesn't move.

“Go away,” he says again. “I'm done playing games, okay? I'm done. I'm not falling for it, so just get them out of here! You hear me, you bastards? Get them out of here! Get me out of here!”

He is screaming now, totally ignoring fake Dean stumbling back a bit, surprise and horror clearly written on his face. Sam doesn't care. He dropped his part. He stopped acting in this crazy show and now he should be brought back to real reality pretty soon.

But nothing happens. Fake Dean's fake room is still around him. The fake bracelets are now clutched into his hand and fake Dean is staring at him like he just went crazy. But he didn't. He kept himself from going crazy. He showed those sons of bitches that he can't be fooled anymore. So why then, is he still here? None of the other hallucinations took this long to fade, and that was when he fell for them willingly. Why won't they just stop?

“Sam? Hey, Sammy?”

Fake Dean is still there. Still won't leave. Why? Sam knows he is not real. He moves backwards when Dean comes closer again, hands held up in surrender.

“You wanna tell me what is going on here? Who are you shouting at, huh?”

Dean isn't angry anymore. He isn't teasing anymore. He isn't annoying anymore. He is concerned. And Sam has seen his brother worried over him over a million times before, often because of little things too. His face, when he looks like this, is something that has comforted Sam since his earliest childhood.

The point is, other people aren't supposed to know what it looks like. They aren't supposed to know this part of Dean. That's his. So fake Dean isn't supposed to look like this. Fake Deans are supposed to be angry with him, degrading him, _blaming him_. They don't worry. They don't love him. The Dean in the Panic room never did. The Dean in hell never did. When Lucifer played Dean he never did. During Sam’s nightmares, his brother never did. No fake Dean ever did. Only the real one. The real Dean worried and cared and loved and would look at him like he’s the most important person in the world. Like this Dean is doing right now.

No, no, no! This isn't real, it isn't real. Dean is dead. Mom is dead. Hell, maybe he is dead himself. Could this be the Empty? Is that why Dean is here? No, it can't be. The Empty is supposed to be… well, empty. And mom is supposed to be in Heaven.

“Sam? Will you just listen to me now? I don't know what's gotten into you all of a sudden, but maybe it'd be a good idea to sit down, alright? Want me to get ya a beer?”

Without any preamble Dean leaves the room. That's okay. That's more like normal. Not like real yet. But it's normal for this fake world. It's more like the way Dean and mom have been playing ever since he was put here.

But Sam is done with these games. If his captors won’t put an end to all of this, then he will.

He sits down on Dean’s bed, like his ‘brother’ told him to, and scoots backwards, away from the foot end. He lets his hands wander and keeps his eyes on the door. His ears are peeled for any sounds coming from the hallway. Finally his fingers wrap around the cold metal of Dean’s handgun underneath the pillow. He relaxes his shoulders but doesn’t relent the grip on the weapon. If anything, he holds it even tighter, his thumb poised on top of the safety switch. Any second now.

“Wow, Wow! Sammy, stop!”

As soon as Dean appears in the doorway, Sam is up and ready, gun pointed towards his fake brother and safety switched off. Now just to pull that trigger.

“What the hell is wrong with you man, put that down!”

Dean is scared now. No worry, just fear and anger in his eyes. Yeah, a lot of anger. And Sam wonders if this is fake Dean’s reaction, or if it’s the reaction of his captors, getting frustrated and bloodthirsty. Fake Dean surely looks like he could kill right now. Which is sort of ironic, since Sam is the one with the gun. But then again, Dean has always been most fatal when scared or angry. And fake Dean or not, Sam won’t let his guard down now. Not when he isn’t in control of his own head.

“What are you?!” Dean screams. “Shapeshifter, Demon? And what the hell did you do to my brother?!”

Sam doesn’t say anything in return. Really? Are they trying to confuse him now? Sure, he knows he has some screws loose, but are they really trying to make him think like he’s the bad guy here? That just doesn’t make any sense.

But of course, he is getting it by the wrong end again. Of course everyone is ten steps ahead of him and before he knows it, the handle of the gun is slammed against his temple, knocking him for a loop for a moment. At least long enough for Dean to cuff his wrists together and to the bed post.

When his vision stops bluring, he notices his mom, fake mom, in the doorway. She must have made the shuffling sound that distracted him long enough for Dean to overpower him. Damn, he really is a sorry excuse for a hunter, even within his own drugged subconcious. On the other hand, those few minutes of dazed unconciousness formed the first real sleep he’s had in what could probably be days. Maybe it’s understandable for him to be a bit off his game.

Dean quickly makes an end to the daze though, when he forces salted holy water down Sam’s throat. He is cutting him non too gently with a silver knife after, digging in deeper than he had to. Of course nothing sizzled, nothing smoked, and all Sam did was flinch when the knife drew blood and the salt hit his tongue.

His fake mom covers the cut with a handkerchief, Winchester-style. Dean watches it all passively, anger still radiating from him, but at least he is not acting out on it for now. Every single time a fake Dean got mad at him before, things didn’t end well.

His mom backs away again. Dean mumbles something into her ear and she leaves the room. Sam guesses they are going to call Castiel down here. That’s what they always do when things don’t add up. Or, that’s what Dean and him would do when things didn’t add up.

His fake brother comes closer, squats down in front of him. His green eyes pierce Sam’s own. He looks so much like Dean it _hurts_. And all of the sudden Sam wants to get back to pretending. It’ll always be better than living in a real world without his brother. _Always_.

“Look,” Dean says. “So maybe you’re not a demon or shapeshifter or whatever else I can think off. But you’re not Sam. My brother would never have put up with all this without at least bitch-facing me into next Thursday. Now I’m asking you again, what they hell _are you_?”

And Sam steels himself again. He won’t give in. Because the real Dean would be too disappointed with him if he did.

“I’m Sam,” he answers. “It’s you who isn’t Dean.”

Okay, so maybe that didn’t entirely make sense, but Sam was tired and at least he didn’t give up his fight. He was weak but staying strong.

And apparently it helps because Dean, fake Dean, whatever Dean, doesn’t look like he wants to kill him anymore.

“What?”

Such a simple question and Sam knows the very simple answer to it too.

“You’re fake. Mom’s fake. The bunker is fake. You’re all dead. I’m stuck inside my head and you _sons of bitches_ are _fucking_ with it but let me tell you something: I’ve had worse, way worse. I can take what you’re dealing me so either quit or continue or whatever, I don’t care anymore. But it’s all a waste of time. Lucifer couldn’t break me, neither can you.”

Maybe that was a lie. Lucifer did break him. If it wasn’t for Castiel and Dean, he’d still be in the nuthouse talking to his own halucinations. But maybe his captors didn’t know that.

Clearly Dean still did, because he left the room without another word and didn’t return for another half an hour. Apparently that was how long it took for Cas to finish whatever it was he had to do and get here.

He got a full once-over, which was weird because Cas was checking his head _inside_ his head. And, predictably, since this wasn’t even his real conciousness, couldn’t find a thing.

“I don’t know Dean. Sam seems alright. All of the traces of the hallucinogen the British Men of Letters used on him have left his system. I do, however, detect large amounts of stress throughout his whole body. Tense muscles, rapit heartbeat and a light case of hyperventilation. That might cause a delirium if it went on for long enough, coupled with the head trauma you caused.”

“Yeah yeah. So it’s just like, stress? How’s that explain anything? We’re always stressed.”

Castiel shrugs. “I’m not a doctor, Dean. But he is in distress and for some reason he doesn’t trust you or your mother.”

“I don’t trust you either,” Sam sneers, partially because he thinks the entire situation is just kind of amusing now (seriously, how long are they going to keep this up?) and partially because he hates being talked about when he’s _right there_.

Both older men look down on Sam. Cas already established that it really is Sam they are dealing with here, not some kind of monster or other supernatural being, but they still keep him tied up. Cas even felt for his soul again, which was just as painful within his subconcious as it was out.

“Sam?” Mary suddenly asks. He turns his head towards the dooropening where his mom is. Fake mom. “Why did you point the gun on Dean?”

“Because he’s fake. I’m done, don’t you get that? I never believed in all this. It’s over. This is seriously, by far, the worst torture ever. And I don’t mean that as a compliment, it’s really crappy. If it weren’t for these stupid ropes, I couldn’t imagine any way of making me even more _comfortable_.”

“But why now huh? Why now? According to you, this has all been ‘fake’ for weeks.” That was Dean.

“Hey, I didn’t want to. You just came in, wanted to know what I was doing.”

It was fake Dean’s fault. He didn’t stick to the routine. They could be all merrily and family in the kitchen, the library, just the common rooms. But when Sam would roam the halls, take some time for himself, they alway let him be. Until Dean suddenly snuck up to him that is.

“Alright, okay I’m done. Mom, Cas, could you guys leave us alone for a moment? I’m gonna do something I’m pretty sure you’re not going to approve off.”

Mary kept lingering in the doorway. Castiel took a step closer. “Dean.”

And the two men looked at one another, a silent conversation playing between their eyes. Sam knows, he’s held those conversations with Dean often enough when his brother was still alive. Dean’s eyes are so expressive, easy to read. And apparently Cas’ worries are abated, because he nods once and turns around. He firmly grabs Mary by the shoulders and pushes her along as well.

Sam bets that if she wasn’t so confused right now, she wouldn’t have allowed it.

Sam turns back to his brother, who flips the gun in his hand a couple of times before securing it in his belt, clear for Sam to see.

“No funny tricks or you’re going to get a bullet through the knee, capiche?”

Before Sam can even nod, his hands are cut loose. The ropes on his ankles stay and Sam doesn’t feel like untying them now. It isn’t like he’s going to run anyway. He knows Dean will make good on his promise and he’s already found out that the pain in this fake world is just as bad as it is in reality. Also, where would he run to anyway?

“Alright, give me your hand.”

He doesn’t. Not with the knife still held in Dean’s left.

“This isn’t Lucifer, Dean. These are the British Fuckers of Letters and I’m pretty sure that cutting me _inside_ my head doesn’t really get any results anyway. If it would, don’t ya think this would’ve helped some already?”

He holds up the arm, the handkerchief falling of the still bleeding cut.

Dean sighs, long and heavy. He drags a hand over his face and rises again, dropping the knife on his desk as he goes to his night stand. He pulls out a simple, wooden box and comes over again, sitting cross-legged in front of Sam.

“Let me stitch that up, don’t need it to scar.”

Sam shrugs. He’s done trying to explain that none of this matters. Who cares about scars when it’s all inside your head? But it’s clear that none of this is going to dissapear any time soon, and he likes this Dean way better than the one who was yelling at him and had him choke on water and salt.

Dean takes his time, like he always does when it comes to patching up. He can be a brash guy, and look really tough, but he can be gentle as well, and very precise when it comes to first-aid. Hunters know how important it is to take care of your body well, if you want to stay alive.

He watches calmly as Dean washes out the wound with a water bottle and uses the tweezers to pluck out dirt and threads from the handkerchief. He passively feels the pinch of Dean’s fingers as they hold his skin together. He breathes steadily through his nose when the needle and threat are sliding through his skin. Only when Dean sprays the wound with antiseptic does he make a sound. A grunt because God that stings.

Dean smirks. “Wuss,” he murmers fondly and again he is hit with the sudden urge to hug this man because he reminds him so strongly of his brother it _hurts_.

And Sam startles. He grabs his brother’s arm, and it feels so real. Everything feels so real. Dean’s skin turns red, then white again and Sam knows it’s going to bruise later but it feels so _real_. Because it is.

Dean looks at him curiously and it only makes it worse. Before he knows this, he remembers this. He’s hyperventilating, nearly sobbing, and the shuddering breaths come in faster and faster until his vision is littered with black dots.

But Sam doesn’t care because the pain, all of it, the pain inside his head, the pain that isn’t physical but comes from the inside, _it_ _feels so real_. And no matter how sad it is that all he remembers about Dean, real Dean, is pain, it’s stone number one and _build on it_.

But it’s all real. So amazing, fantastically, unbelievably _real_ and right now Sam is pretty sure no one is going to take it away from him. They would’ve tried already if they wanted to take this from him. And if they had tried, Dean would have ripped their lungs out. Sam snickers.

“Alright man,” Dean’s voice sounds softer now, and so very much like Dean's. And Sam wonders how he didn't notice that before. “What is this all about. First you want to shoot my lights out, then you start cursing and being all offensive, then you ball your eyes out like a baby and now you’re laughing. How’s that for a mood change. You pregnant Samantha?”

But Sam can’t talk right now. He needs to sleep. He hasn’t been sleeping for so long. He vaguely notices Dean hoisting him up and dropping him on something soft. Memory foam. Sam remembers. And he sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, this is my very first fic so please be gentle. I've been in the fandom for over a year now but I'm very nervous about posting any of my writings. This is just me trying it out. Hope you guys liked it. I have been considering a second chapter. Please tell me if you would like to see it, or if I should end this here. And please comment on my writing style as well as my English, since I'm not a native speaker. Thanks for reading and giving it a chance :)


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